Plain Return (The Plain Fame Series Book 4) (6 page)

He’d sleep and she’d lie there, listening to the sounds of his breathing and feeling the strength of his arm holding her tightly against his chest. Sometimes she’d stroke his arm, tracing her fingers along the outline of his tattoo. He would awaken, just for a moment, and kiss her shoulder before falling back into a deep slumber.

Now, as she exited the elevator and proceeded toward the main entrance to their condominium, she felt the tears begin to fall. Once inside, she ran up the stairs and headed for the bedroom, ashamed by her reaction to all that had happened. She flung herself across the bed, knowing that she needed to let it out and just cry. No one was home besides Señora Perez and maybe Rodriego. They wouldn’t disturb her even if they overheard her sobs.

She must have fallen asleep because she awoke to the noise of the light switch clicking in the bathroom. As her eyes fluttered open, she realized that the sun had already set. She sat up and rubbed at her eyes, feeling groggy and fuzzy headed. “Alejandro?” she called out. She knew it must be him for she heard the water running in the sink. She slid off the bed and quietly tiptoed across the carpet to the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar. “Alejandro?” she asked again as she pressed her fingers against the door handle.

He stood at the sink, splashing water on his face. When he saw her in the reflection of the mirror, he turned off the water and grabbed a towel. “Princesa,” he said, his eyes watching her as he dried his face. “You were asleep. Did I wake you?”

She shook her head, sections of hair coming loose from her bun. She must have lost her pins while she slept, for strands of her hair hung down her shoulders and brushed against her face. Pushing it back from her cheeks, she let her hand linger on the back of her neck. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what, Princesa?” He dropped the towel into the sink and turned to face her, leaning his hip against the edge of the marble vanity. The corner of his mouth lifted into a smile as he reached out his hand for hers. When she took it, he pulled her into the room and against his chest. “Ah, Princesa,” he sighed, burrowing his face into her hair. “I have missed you these past few days.”

His confession almost made her cry once again, but she didn’t think she had any tears left.

He kissed the side of her head, still holding her tight in his arms. “Such a life for you, no? There is much to learn.”

She wanted to learn, but she did not know what understanding she was missing. She still didn’t see why she shouldn’t have taken photos with the fans. Nor did she understand what Dali had meant about her being a
brand
. Even Alejandro had said that there was a price for photos. Price? What price? And for . . . a photo? She didn’t understand what they were talking about, and the confusion weighed heavily on her. She wanted to do the right thing. But if she didn’t know what the right thing was, how was it possible for her to do it? She wanted to ask him for an explanation, some clarification that would help her avoid making inadvertent mistakes that would upset others. But navigating his world was becoming increasingly difficult, especially now that they had returned to Miami.

And that was one more thing that bothered her. Miami was supposed to be their home. She wanted to create a routine for Alejandro, but every day presented nothing but irregular schedules. The only constant thing in their lives was change.

As if reading her mind, he pulled away and held her at arm’s length, keeping his hands on her shoulders and massaging them gently. “How was the rest of the day? Good?”

Amanda stood there, mute, staring at him. How could she possibly tell him the truth? That she abhorred Jeremy’s dresses with their mesh fabric sides and low-cut necklines and how Stedman was trying to make her do things that she simply didn’t want to do? The thought of telling Alejandro what she truly felt caused her to do the one thing she didn’t want to do: burst into tears. Horrified, she covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

With his hands still on her shoulders, he leaned down and peered into her face. “What is this, Princesa? Tears? Not from
my
Amanda,” he said in a soothing voice. She thought she heard him chuckle, not unkindly but in a bemused sort of way. “Such emotions, Princesa,” he whispered. “Are you feeling all right?”

And there it was. The truth.

Did he know her so well, she wondered, that he sensed what was really bothering her? Burrowing her head against his shoulder, she continued sobbing, not caring whether her tears stained his shirt. She clung to him. “Yes . . . no . . . oh, I don’t know anymore,” she said.

He let her cry, rubbing her back and soothing her with a soft “Shh.” When she finally calmed down, he released his hold on her and leaned over to pull a tissue from the container on the vanity. Leaning down again, he dabbed at her eyes. “Your emotions, Princesa,” he said slowly. “Do you think . . . ?”

When he didn’t finish the sentence, she blinked at him. “Think what, Alejandro?”

He smiled at her and gave a last dab at a final tear. “Perhaps something is bothering you? Perhaps there’s a chance . . . ?”

A chance of what? she wondered. And then, all of a sudden, it dawned on her. Was he insinuating that she might be pregnant? Were her emotions caused by changes in her body? “I . . . I don’t know,” she answered. She hadn’t considered such a possibility. “It
has
been a while.” She felt herself blush when she said that and averted her eyes.

“Hmm.” The way that he said it, a mischievous undertone to that single sound, made her dip her head and hide it against his arm as he embraced her again. He laughed and gently rocked her from side to side. “We’ll have to find out,
sí
?”

A baby? Was it possible? She tried to remember when she’d last had her monthly course. And her emotions had seemed all over the place lately, especially since they had returned to Miami. A warm glow spread throughout her body at the thought that, mayhaps, she was carrying Alejandro’s baby. Oh, she thought, how
wunderbar
that would be! To give him such a gift, and to share the miracle of life together! She laughed with him, suddenly feeling as if the weight of the day’s emotional burdens had lifted from her shoulders.

Chapter Six

Wearing black slacks and a high-collared white shirt with black onyx cuff links at the wrists, Alejandro stood in the doorway, watching Amanda. She was leaning slightly over the bathroom counter and peering into the mirror, putting on the final touches of her makeup. She could feel the heat of his stare, and as she applied a clear lip gloss, she looked at his reflection beside hers.

“You’re staring,” she said, her eyes holding his gaze in the mirror.

“Sí.”
His eyes never moved, and the corner of his mouth lifted, just a touch, as if he was trying to repress a smile. “
Sí
, Amanda, I am staring.” His voice was soft, almost like a gentle purr. “I am staring at the most beautiful woman in my world.”

His compliment caused her a moment of discomfort, and she looked away. Growing up, beauty was something to be seen in God’s gifts to the world: nature, not people. Personal beauty was not something that was discussed among family, friends, or community. Doing so was a sign of one of the worst sins: vanity. Even though Alejandro knew this, he often made flattering remarks about her. She wasn’t certain that she would ever get used to them.

As always, he chuckled at her reaction and she felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

She didn’t know if she would ever get used to his compliments or the look in his eyes when he watched her with a mixture of mild curiosity and barely veiled longing. There were moments when she caught him staring and wondered how long she had been unaware of his silent observation. But always he wore that look, the same one he wore now as he watched her getting ready for an evening out in Miami.

“Is that a new dress, Princesa?” He crossed the room, the thick heels of his glossy black shoes clicking on the marble tile. “Did Jeremy pick that out?”

Amanda turned so that her back faced the mirror and playfully held out her arms as if she were a dancer. Unlike Lucinda, the horrible woman who’d picked out her clothing in Philadelphia and insulted her by calling her prayer
kapp
a hat, Jeremy not only understood Amanda’s style but also embraced it in most of her day-to-day outfits. Still, her new wardrobe was not perfect. This dress, dark navy with a high neckline, was proof. Jeremy had added the rhinestones around her neck and the low-cut back, which Amanda had complained profusely about. And, of course, he disagreed with her over the style of her dresses for the tour. In fact, several of the new dresses were a bit risqué for her taste. But in dealing with Jeremy, she had clearly met her match: her protests were ignored, the dress with the low back now adorned her body, and she knew that her stage dresses would be suggestive, to say the least.

“You like,
ja
?”

“I like,
ja
,” he teased, reaching for her extended hand and gently pulling her toward him. With his other hand, he held her, the small of her back fitting comfortably against his palm. The warmth of his skin gave her a shiver, and she shut her eyes, enjoying his attention.

The past two weeks had been long and busy. She chastised herself now for having envisioned that their return to Miami would be followed by them living a normal life as newlyweds, something they had yet to experience. After all, she reasoned with herself, what about Alejandro was truly “normal”? Certainly not his lifestyle, that was for sure and certain.

Now, her days were filled with so many appointments, she barely realized that she hardly saw her husband until the evenings when he returned to their condominium—sometimes with an entourage, occasionally by himself. Always she made certain to be ready for his arrival so that when he walked in the front door and called out for her, she was just in the other room, waiting.

Always waiting.

If he was alone, she didn’t mind that he would sweep her into his arms, sometimes lifting her off the floor as he carried her into the living room, her weak protests mere pretense, for she wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms. Instead of putting her down, he’d spin her around, nuzzle at her neck, and warm her lips with a kiss before setting her back on her feet. Leaving his embrace always made her heart ache. It hadn’t taken long for her to figure out the routine, a routine she accepted despite it being far removed from the one she’d envisioned for their life in Miami.

Most nights Alejandro appeared around seven o’clock; he would pour himself a drink and offer her a glass of champagne or wine. Usually she would simply shake her head and instead accept the sparkling water with a twist of lemon that Señora Perez had waiting for her, as if by magic. At that point, Alejandro would then join her on the sofa, stretching out his large frame as he leaned his head back and sighed. He would remain silent for a few minutes as he unwound from a long day of meetings and interviews. After he’d had a few minutes to relax, he’d ask her about her day, which had been filled with just as much activity as his.

After an hour, sometimes less, his phone would vibrate and he’d glance down at the intrusive device. Not once was it a call or text that didn’t require his immediate attention.

And then there were the evenings when he would arrive home with his entourage. Amanda thought they were as intrusive as Alejandro’s cell phone. She knew what to expect when Alejandro called for her on those evenings: the same embrace, the same lifting off the ground, the same nuzzling at her neck. Yet she felt uncomfortable with his affection for her being displayed in front of those men, some of them looking like hoodlums from the street in their T-shirts and caps.

Alejandro appeared oblivious to her uneasiness in their presence. He delighted in showing off his wife and made certain to compliment her appearance or tease her about something that would bring that all-too-familiar flush to her cheeks. Then he would excuse himself and escape with the men to his recording room or take them outside to sit around the pool, where they’d drink and discuss business. Occasionally, more people might arrive—his friends, cousins, other entertainers—and the music would start. On other nights, Alejandro might work on writing new songs until well after midnight. Either way, she retired to bed alone, waking early in the morning with Alejandro beside her, sometimes with his arm draped around her waist, but always in a deep sleep.

Tonight, however, he was taking her out.

He traced her cheekbone with his thumb, and she opened her eyes, eager to have his undivided attention for one whole evening. She didn’t even mind that their dinner reservations were for nine o’clock, the time of night when she was usually washing her face and changing into a nightgown so that she could settle into bed after her evening prayers. She’d read the Bible for a while until her eyes drooped, and then she would drift off to sleep, sometimes with the light still on.

“Let’s cancel those reservations,” he murmured as he leaned down and brushed his lips across hers, his thumb still on her cheek. “I’m no longer hungry . . .”

She felt light-headed and realized she was holding her breath. It seemed impossible to breathe in his presence. The less time they spent together, the more strongly she felt the need to be near him.

As if reading her mind, he pulled away from her, letting his thumb slowly fall from her cheek. He half smiled in his mischievous way as he whispered, “Later,
sí
?”

He took a step backward and glanced in the mirror, taking a moment to straighten the sleeves of his shirt and brush a piece of lint from his pants. She watched as he assessed himself, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin. Like a beautiful rooster preening, she thought, and felt an immediate longing for the simplicity of what she feared she would always secretly consider her home: Lancaster. Wherever Alejandro went, he was prepared for paparazzi. Not once did he leave the house in anything less than what Amanda would consider equivalent to his Sunday best. Tonight was no exception.

The doorman nodded to them as he opened the door and stepped aside. Amanda smiled and greeted him with a soft hello. She had attempted numerous times to engage him in conversation until Dali finally informed her that she was not to fraternize with such people, by which Amanda quickly realized she meant hired help. Amanda hadn’t responded to Dali, but the comment had stayed with her, tasting foul in her memory each time she remembered it.

“Ah, here she is!” Alejandro said as the valet emerged with his Porsche from the underground garage. He gestured toward the car with a great flourish and smiled at her. “Your chariot, Princesa.”

“And the occasion is . . . ?”

“Do I need an occasion?” He opened the car door and gave an exaggerated bow. “Perhaps
you
are the occasion.”

With one foot inside the car, she pivoted on her other to look at him. “I am?”

“Sí,
Princesa
.”
He reached out to take hold of her elbow so that he could guide her into the passenger seat. “I have been so busy. I fear I have been neglectful of my most precious jewel.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say neglectful . . .” she teased gently.

Alejandro rolled his eyes and placed his hand over his chest. “Ouch.”

She laughed, enjoying his playful mood.

The week had been long. It had taken her time to get used to the fact that the pregnancy test she took on Saturday had come back negative. At first, she hadn’t wanted to tell Alejandro, hoping and praying that the test might be wrong. But on Wednesday, a second pregnancy test displayed the same negative sign on the plastic stick, and she recognized the truth: there was no baby—not now anyway. The realization felt overwhelming; she had been ever so certain that she carried his baby. While he was working, she had crawled into bed, curled into a fetal position, and wept silently for the baby she had conjured in her mind.

With it being February now, she knew that enough time had passed for her to have conceived a baby. Even considering the time she and Alejandro had spent apart before Christmas, there was no reason for her not to have become pregnant. The disappointment was devastating; she felt like a failure. There were very few Amish couples who didn’t have a baby by their one-year anniversary. And when that was the case, it was usually because there was a problem.

She hadn’t wanted to tell Alejandro in person, so when her tears had dried up and she’d gathered her strength, she did the cowardly act of sending him a text message by phone:

I’m sorry. Not this month.

A.

Barely five minutes had passed before her phone dinged, announcing a new incoming message. She’d hesitated, feeling worried about what his response would be. She waited to look at it, fearing that his disappointment would increase her feelings of inadequacy. When she finally found the strength to retrieve his message, she covered her mouth with her hand and stifled a tearful laugh of relief:

Why sorry? Trying is the best part,
Princesa.

V.

That night he’d brought home two dozen white roses and, without even giving her a chance to ooh and ahh over them, had swept her off her feet and up the staircase. She didn’t have time to feel sorry about her lack of immediate conception. Alejandro made good on his promise to keep trying.

Now, as he drove her to the restaurant, singing along with the radio as he did, she leaned back and enjoyed the pleasure of just being with him. Not once had he seemed disappointed or upset that she wasn’t yet pregnant. Instead, he treated her with tender care, acting like he normally did and without making any mention of what could have been.

His support certainly helped her overcome her erratic swing of emotions. It will happen when it happens,
she told herself. When God wanted her to have a baby, that would be the moment when she would conceive.

The music faded away, and it took her a moment to realize that he had turned down the radio.

“Did you say something, then?” she asked him.

“I did not. But if I had,” he replied with a sideways glance, “it would have been to comment that you seem relaxed tonight.”

And she was.

“Where are we going, if I may ask?”

Alejandro lifted an eyebrow and pursed his lips, one corner raised just enough to show that he was in one of his playful moods. “You may ask,” he said, flicking on his turn signal. “But I am not going to answer, Princesa.”

“Ah.” She knew better than to press him. When he wanted to do something special for her, he would not be convinced to divulge any information. “I see.” She tried not to smile back at him. “It’s a right
gut
thing that patience is a virtue, then,
ja
?”

Five minutes later, Alejandro pulled up to the restaurant and stopped the car under a burgundy canopy so that the valet attendant could take it away. The driver’s side door was opened by the attendant, but before Alejandro exited the car, he turned toward her. “Tonight is going to be very special, Amanda.”

Her curiosity was piqued as she wondered what he had up his sleeve. His secrecy was one thing; the use of her name was another. Usually when he called her Amanda, something serious was about to be discussed. But he didn’t seem to be in a serious mood. No, he looked fresh and happy, his face glowing with pride as he walked around the car, bent his arm, and waited for her to take it so that he could escort her inside.

The restaurant was dark, illuminated only by sconces that clung to each panel of the rich red walls, the light creating a seductive effect and adding to the dramatic atmosphere. From somewhere inside came the sound of music, a dull, muffled noise that seemed to come from far away. Blue lights glowed from the underside of the bar in the cocktail lounge at the back of the restaurant. The people at the bar were all dressed in fancy clothes: the men in stylish slacks and silky shirts, and the women in form-fitting dresses and high heels that made Amanda feel unbalanced just by looking at them.

“Ah, Mr. Diaz,” a woman said as she approached them. “Your table is ready.”